“I do not know all the particulars, but it is said the head of the Heron clan at that time raised a considerable sum and bought off the charges. The O’Connors have been their tenants and retainers since.”
“Indeed, I wondered at the eagerness of the youth who came with Heron to join this ship,” Captain Stewart replied slowly. “Yet, the relationship is more like that of brothers than of servant and master. O’Connor is never far from Heron if action is threatened. He has even moved divisions to remain in Heron’s company.”
He smiled. “I must tell you that several more will follow him to your ship. The boy has made an interesting impression upon some of the crew since he joined this ship. He is conscientious and quick to learn, and he has a talent with his paintbrush, should you need an accurate sketch. You will find him useful, I assure you.”
Chapter 14
The Spartan
The transfer to the Spartan went smoothly, and Harry and Kit soon found themselves settled into their new home in her gunroom. Being among the younger midshipmen meant that they lived at the aft end of the orlop next to the bread room and other stores, while the older midshipmen occupied the gunroom itself, the two groups coming together for meals and study at all other times.
Harry’s first encounter with Midshipman Barclay was somewhat tempered by Tom Bowles, the second senior, who made it very plain that he would not be party to any bullying. Even so, Eamon Barclay made it obvious that Harry would have to watch his step very carefully.
“Heron is it? Still defending rebels in your house?” sneered Barclay.
“Only those we consider wrongly accused,” replied Harry coolly. “Though not, to my knowledge, since we gave up Raholp.”
“Gave up? You mean since you were sent packing,” sneered Barclay.
“A matter of interpretation, I suppose,” replied Harry, standing his ground. His nails dug into his palms as he tried to contain his anger at this unprovoked enmity.
“The land was seized along with the goods and animals, which did not form part of the grant, as I recall. But the High Court settled it some years before either of us was born.”
“A false judgment,” said the other. “We have never recognised it, nor will we ever.”
“As you wish, Mister Barclay. I have no desire to pursue any claim while we serve together on this ship. Our duty is surely to the ship and her Captain and not to a dispute between our families that has its roots in falsehood.”
“Easy, Eamon,” interjected Tom Bowles quickly as Eamon’s face flushed with a dangerous look. “This is not the Glatton, and Captain Blackwood will not tolerate the actions permitted under our last Captain, as you well know. You would not wish to have our new Captain endorse your certificates before we even weigh anchor, would you?”
To Harry and Kit he smiled and extended a greeting. “Welcome to Spartan—don’t mind Eamon. He hoped to be promoted but has been set back by the peace, and now he needs to wait until the French break it.” He grinned. “And so must several more of us. This voyage may well be our best hope of preferment if all goes well.”
Harry was pleased to find that Ferghal was already settled. He grinned as Ferghal informed him he was now the junior messman to the gunroom and posted to the number eight mess on the lower battery.
“My hammock is to be with the other boys. I am charged with their care, and I am told I must keep you young gentlemen in this space in order,” he added with a laugh.
“Grand news,” said Harry. “I must warn you, however, our gunroom senior is a Barclay of Raholp. Be cautious around him; he will be the kind who seeks to injure me through you if the opportunity arises. Take care how you deal with him; I may not be able to prevent his having you flogged on some pretext if you offer him the chance.”
“Fear not, Master Harry. I shall be careful about him. You’d best take care as well. Some may find other opportunities to cause you harm. I shall warn our division. Small and several others have transferred with us.”
“Take care you warn them they may be his targets as well and to be scrupulous in all their dealings with him.” A sudden thought struck him. “Has Small been assigned a post where his arm will not be his downfall? If not, I shall see what I can arrange with the Lieutenants.”
Small had joined the Bellerophon from a prison hulk; misfortune and a badly weakened arm, the result of a serious wound, had led him there.
“Small is here as assistant to the sailmaker. Fear not—he has his friends aboard this ship as well. The boatswain served with him when he got the wound and has taken care to place him where he is out of harm’s way.”
Ferghal looked about him at the cramped space. “Strange how the ship is already gathering her own smell, is it not? It’s different from that of the Billy, yet familiar. I wonder what the great South Sea will be like—and if the women are as beautiful as they say.”
“I should think the same as here,” Harry said with a grin, “and probably not for the likes of us, anyways. We are sure to be told we are too young or some such thing should the chance to meet some be offered. And if we linger much longer, I shall be liable to a spell in the rigging, and you, no doubt, for a meeting with the gunner’s daughter.”
FOR HARRY AND THE OTHERS, THE NEXT SEVERAL DAYS passed in a whirl of activity as the ship took in stores, water, shot, and powder. There were the officers’ and the Captain’s private stores to be stowed carefully in the lazarette aft of the orlop, and, slowly, more men arrived and found spaces for their meager possessions and hammocks. As one of the youngest midshipmen, Harry found that his assigned station was with the flag party on the quarterdeck or on watch with one of the senior midshipmen as an assistant to the officer of the watch. He liked the first Lieutenant—an amiable and very capable man named Thomas Bell—and was fortunate in his divisional officer, the third Lieutenant, Matthew Beasley. The other Lieutenants seemed to be a varied collection. Ironically, the oldest of the Lieutenants was the fifth, John Evans, a Bristol man who had worked his way up from the lower deck and happily asserted that he had no expectation of rising any higher.
Late in the week, Harry was present when Lieutenant Bell dealt with a sharp-faced man who had dragged a cowering and half-starved child aboard. The man asserted that the child was his nephew and his mother was recently dead. The man declared, “E ’as no ’ome, yer ’onor. ’is mum on’y jus’ kep’ ’im fed as it were. An’ there be no room in my ’ouse fer ’im. Me wife’s sister, she were, and the father be a sailor in the Chunnel Fleet, if ’e’s still living.”
“So you say.” Mister Bell’s frown deepened. “Is there not a place for him in the workhouse?”
“T’ work ’ouse’ll kill him, yer honour,” the man declared. “It ud be a cruelty not t’ let ’em volunteer fer t’ sea service.”
“No doubt,” agreed Lieutenant Bell, his face grim as he surveyed the man and the obviously terrified child. “Yet it is a hard life for a child on a ship—harder perhaps than the workhouse.”
“Indeed, yer ’onour.” The man shuffled his feet uncomfortably under the Lieutenant’s stare. He tried wheedling. “But t’ bounty fer a volunteer wud ’elp pay….” The man’s voice faltered under the Lieutenant’s contemptuous glare.
Harry pitied the terrified child and was relieved when Mister Bell spoke kindly to him.
The Lieutenant asked the cowering child, “Do you wish to serve your king?”
With a frightened glance at his “uncle” the boy nodded and muttered something inaudible.
The man cuffed him and snarled, “Speak up, yer worthless brat! Tell the capting you’m willing to serve.”
“Steady there,” said the Lieutenant. “There is no call for that. I heard well enough.” He glanced around. “Mister Treliving?”
The hurried over. “See this man gets his bounty and send him on his way,” the Lieutenant order. He beckoned to Harry. “Mister Heron, take this boy to your messman and instruct him to see he is properly clothed and giv
en some food. Tell O’Connor to see he is taken to the boatswain, assigned a berth, and shown his duties.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Harry touched his hat. He wondered why he was being given this task when it would normally have been given to one of the s. He smiled at the frightened boy. “Come with me,” he said, smiling to set the boy at ease. “Tell me your name.”
It took three attempts before Harry caught the name, by which time they were already descending the companionway to the lower gun deck. “Well, Danny, we won’t eat you here on Spartan, and Mister Billing, the boatswain, will see you are taken care of.”
He found Ferghal making his way to the gunroom in preparation for their dinner. “Ferghal, this is Danny; take him to Mister Billing and see he is signed on properly. He is to be given a meal and some clothes from the slops chest. You may wish to finish your present task quickly and then show Danny the way.”
Ferghal grinned. “All is now ready for your dinner, Master Harry. Fear not, I shall see to the little ’un. The boatswain will doubtless know what’s to be done with him.”
Harry clapped his friend on the back and said, “I know he is in good hands now.” To the still frightened youngster he said, “Mind you do as Ferghal here tells you—he will take care of you.” He returned to his task on the quarterdeck wondering how this latest addition to Spartan’s crew would survive. Between the boatswain and Ferghal, he knew young Danny would be well looked after—probably better now than at any other time in his life.
Chapter 15
Convoy
“Gentlemen!” Captain Robert Blackwood rapped sharply on his table. “Your attention if you please!”
The assembled group of officers, some in civilian dress as befitted their status as master mariners in the merchant service, others, like Harry, in naval uniform, stilled their conversations and settled back in their seats.
“My clerk will shortly be passing to each of you copies of your sailing orders for this voyage. We will be sailing as a convoy, even though it is now all peace and tranquillity with our French neighbours.” He paused as a murmur of discontent rippled among the merchant masters.
“I am aware that some of you do not see any need for this, but I can assure you that their lordships have excellent intelligence that there are a number of privateers still operating from various ports along the West African coast and even on the East African seaboard. Furthermore, some of you are carrying a large number of convicts to our destination, and both the government and the admiralty believe that you should be sailed in company with a large ship as escort to ensure that any attempt at mutiny is dealt with quickly and effectively.”
He surveyed the group, and asked, “Have you any observations you wish to make at this stage?”
A burly master spoke up. “Aye, Captain, we all know the reasons they give for this convoying in London, but what with the French suing for peace, many of us feel we can make a faster passage unescorted and unencumbered by, begging your pardon, your sluggish ships.” There was a murmur of agreement.
Captain Blackwood glared at the man. “Sadly, sir, it is not the French alone we must consider. There are pirates and others to contend with on our voyage south, and the news of the projected peace may not reach all outposts as swiftly as we would prefer. I am aware that many of you consider your ships faster and handier than mine, but we will have two frigates in company, and they will afford protection and the ability to ensure that this convoy remains intact.”
The threat was thinly veiled, but not missed by those to whom it was addressed. “Now gentlemen, your orders,” he added as the clerk distributed a number of sealed packets.
“MAKE THE SIGNAL IF YOU PLEASE, MISTER HERON. Lively now, don’t give these transports and the John Company layabouts an excuse to be tardy.” The first Lieutenant seemed to have eyes everywhere as his attention focused on the men swarming aloft to make sail.
The second Lieutenant and his men manned the halyards and the braces while the third Lieutenant urged the men at the capstan to greater efforts as the anchor was drawn free of the mud and sand. The cries of command and response, the occasional yelp as a man felt the bite of a boatswain’s mate’s starter, and the sudden banging and rustling as the great fore topsail and its companion on the main mast were loosed and sheeted home made for a seemingly incomprehensible clamour as the ship slowly gathered way.
Harry’s party hauled the coloured flags aloft, the signal to all the ships of the convoy to assemble between the great seventy-four and the pair of frigates already cramming on more sail to take their stations ahead and to windward of the reluctant convoy. The signal was acknowledged by the frigates and two brigs added to the convoy for the voyage to Gibraltar swiftly and efficiently, by the Indiamen condescendingly and by the three prison ships tardily. The last, Maid of Selsey, had to be prompted by hauling aloft a second signal with her name spelled out for all to read and a demand that she acknowledge the signal.
“All ships acknowledged, sir,” Harry called to the first Lieutenant.
“Very good, Mister Heron,” Captain Blackwood replied. “Now make another course, south by west sou’ west. Keep close company.”
Harry and his team obeyed, quickly bending on the required flags and sending these soaring aloft on the halyard so that they streamed away from the yardarm clearly visible to all the ships. The acknowledgements were slow, but most of the scattering flock adjusted their courses to suit. Again, the Maid of Selsey seemingly ignored the signal.
Captain Blackwood snapped, “Signal her to make more sail and to conform.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Harry’s team obeyed quickly, but the signal remained unacknowledged, and the ship in question continued under easy canvas, slowly being overhauled by the Spartan.
Captain Blackwood said angrily, “That fellow is determined to annoy me. Very well, Mister Rae, clear away the bow chaser and get his attention please.”
The flat bang of the forward long nine caused Harry to jump as he watched the Maid of Selsey through the big signal telescope. The ball sent up a spout of water close astern of the errant ship, and he watched as a number of figures suddenly appeared at the rail gesticulating. He focused the glass on the face of the man he recognised as the master; he detected an angry scowl and the exchange of words with someone out of sight. Men began to straggle aloft, and the acknowledgement jerked up the rigging.
“Maid of Selsey acknowledges, sir,” he said.
“And not before time.” Captain Blackwood had his own glass trained on the recalcitrant prison ship. “I shall not brook insolence from her master. He may be a part owner of that ship, but he is under orders to sail in this convoy whether he likes it or not.”
“I think he will do all in his power to be laggardly,” remarked the first Lieutenant. “I believe his reputation for cruelty to those entrusted to his care is well known, as is his parsimonious attitude to any expense for repairs to his ship.”
“So I am informed.” The Captain turned his attention to his own ship. “We will exercise the hands at gun drill once we clear the channel. It is fortunate that we were able to fill so many vacancies with men from other ships and only a small number of landsmen. Still, we are shorthanded. We must see what can be done to fill those vacancies before we leave home waters.”
“As you say, sir,” replied the first mate. “Though it will not be easy to put a press ashore if we must keep close to these sheep I’m thinking.”
It proved impossible for the ship to detach herself from the convoy to carry out a sweep for more hands along the Devon and Cornish coast, so she remained some twenty men short of complement. The wind freshened as they approached Ushant and backed southerly forcing a long beat to the northwest as darkness fell.
“If this wind holds on this course, sir, we shall make landfall among the Scillies soon after first light.”
“To be avoided I think.” Captain Blackwood studied the chart. “We will make a tack and stand to the South East. Signal t
he convoy to alter course. If necessary, close with each ship and ensure compliance.” He thought for a moment. “It will be dawn in another hour; we will make the alteration then.”
Harry groaned as the pipes twittered along the decks and the cry of “All hands! All hands to shorten sail!” rang through the ship. He rolled from his hammock and groped for his uniform coat; it would be cold on deck at this hour, and he had turned in barely two hours earlier. Rubbing sleep from his eyes and dragging on his coat, he ran to the companionway and joined the throng hurrying to their stations for the task of shortening the great press of canvas overhead.
“Mister Heron,” the third Lieutenant called, “to me, sir.”
“Sir?” Harry responded as he joined his divisional officer at the foot of the foremast.
“Get aloft with the topmen and join the lookout. Report the disposition of the convoy. We are standing toward the Scilly Isles and the very reef upon which Sir Cloudsley Shovell’s fleet was destroyed. It will be sunrise in a half hour, and the Captain means to tack then—sooner if you sight the isles or the reef.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Harry made his way to the shrouds and swung onto the nettings to join the men clambering up the great sweep of the ratlines to the foretop. He followed them round the futtocks and climbed to the topgallant crosstrees.
A little breathless, he joined the lookout and said, “I’m to report the disposition of the convoy. Where away are they, Kennard?”
“On our starboard bow and beam, sor.” The man had a heavy Devonian accent. His teeth flashed in the gloom as he added, “Some o’ they be poor sailors, sor—they’m scatterin’ an’ laggin’.”
“I see them.” Harry peered into the darkness and discerned the stern lights of several and the sidelights of another three; the other ships were having trouble holding the same point to windward as the Spartan. He did a quick count and nodded as he confirmed the number present. “At least we’ve lost none yet.” He cupped his hand to his mouth and sang out, “Convoy in sight on the lee bow, sir.”
Harry Heron: Midshipman's Journey Page 13
